I Bloody Dare You
by Aeliia
Summary: When the occupants of the Berg get a little bored, nothing good can come out of it. Thanks to Brenda's suggestion of a good old game known as truth or dare, things get a little heated in a world already too hot.
1. Chapter 1

I Bloody Dare You

"Well, what should we bloody do?"

Thomas sighed at the same question everyone else had been asking; what should we do? Jorge had taken a break from flying the Berg and was with him, Minho, Newt, and Brenda in the sitting room. The five all agreed that no one wanted to sleep just yet, but there was nothing to do.

"We could play 'let's throw the shank that keeps repeating the same question over and over out the window,'" Minho retorted, crossing his arms in an effort to look cool.

"Can I suffocate him with this pillow?" Newt asked, holding up the pillow he was leaning against.

"No you may not," Jorge replied, chin resting on his hand as he stared at the rest of the group. Thomas couldn't help but feel a bit bad for the guy—he spent all day in a hot control room concentrating while the rest of them got to lounge around all day. The one time he got a break, they couldn't come up with anything to do.

"I've got it," Brenda started. "How about we play truth or dare?"

"What the bloody shuck is that?" Newt replied, tucking the pillow back behind him and relaxing again.

Brenda stared blankly at him. "Oh come on. I know you lost your memories and all, but that's sad. Have any of you—besides Jorge—played it before?"

Thomas, Minho, and Newt and shook their heads in unison. Brenda face palmed and threw her hands up in exasperation. "That settles it, we're playing."

"Tell us how to play," Thomas said.

"Okay," she began. "It's not that hard, even for people as brainless as—"

"Excuse me, I'll have you bloody know—" Newt was cut off when Minho chucked a pillow at his face.

"Let the lady speak," the Runner said. Newt rolled his eyes and made an overdone motion with his hands for her to get on with it.

"As I was saying," Brenda continued in a more annoyed tone, "all you do is you ask someone truth or dare. If they pick truth, you ask them a question that they have to answer truthfully. If they pick dare, you dare them to do something. If they don't do it, they're out of the game. I'll start." The brunette glanced around the room, looking for her victim.

"Minho, truth or dare," she finally said.

"Hmm, which should I pick…" he questioned.

"Either."

"I don't know, they're both such good choices."

"Just choose!"

"Why are you forcing me to make choices?"

"Fine, Thomas—"

"I pick dare," Minho quickly cut in, not wanting to lose his turn.

Brenda thought about it for a moment before smiling deviously. "I dare you to sit in Newt's lap until someone in the room farts."

Minho narrowed his eyes at her and then looked to Newt, who was raising his eyebrows and smirking. "Come on over, shuckface. I won't bite. Much."

"You better hope it's not me that farts, Newt."

Jorge whistled. Thomas watched as Minho moved off of his recliner and trudged his way over to where Newt had sat up. The blond patted his legs, showing no shame in what was about to happen. In fact, he looked like he was amused that he was a part of the whole ordeal. Thomas hoped that if Brenda ever dared him she would spare his poor mind from any trauma that could arise.

Minho stared at Newt for a moment before he finally plopped down on the other boy's lap. Jorge clapped, joined in by Brenda and then Thomas. Minho sent death glares to the three of them, then leaned back against the blond, who appeared to be a bit squished.

"You're bloody heavy for a fit shank, you know that?" he said. The only response he received was Minho reclining back even more so that he practically covered him.

"Your turn, _muchacho_," Jorge said.

He smirked. "How about our beloved Thomas?"

"Oh God…" Thomas murmured under his breath. Whatever the black haired boy had in store for him after Brenda's dare couldn't be good. He decided to go with truth. "I pick truth."

"Ruin the fun, why don't 'cha," Minho muttered. Thinking about it for a moment, he snapped his fingers in conclusion. "Is it true that you've done the do with Teresa?"

"The do?" he asked in confusion.

"You know," Minho said, "parked in the closet, watered her garden—"

Thomas got it now. "No," he said quickly. "Is it my turn now?" His friend looked disappointed with the short answer but shrugged all the same. The brunet looked to Brenda, who nodded.

"Okay. Newt, truth or dare."

"Dare so I can get this buggin' fatty off of me." Thomas thought long and hard. His mind wasn't as humorous enough as the other's to come up with anything worthwhile.

Slumping in his chair, he said, "Can I phone a friend?"

Jorge stood up immediately. "I volunteer to be that friend, _muchacho,_" he replied, coming over to where Thomas was sitting. Not who he had in mind, but it worked all the same. Jorge crouched down and leaned next to Thomas's ear, whispering so the others couldn't hear. "Do something that has to do with keeping Minho with him all night. I don't know if you've ever noticed, but Minho gets a little… _strange _at night, if you know what I mean."

Thomas followed him all the way. He thought back to a disturbing night in the Glade when he heard Minho having a conversation with himself about how much he could use a friend to cuddle with. He wasn't sure what that was about, but he got the gist of it. Without sleep, Minho couldn't function properly; and that turned out to be highly entertaining.

He instantly knew what to do. "Newt, your title was 'The Glue,' right?" Newt looked confused, then nodded.

"Yeah, why?"

"I dare you to be glued to Minho for the rest of the night. At least one part of you has to be touching him at all times," Thomas answered smugly. He was proud of himself for coming up with that one. Jorge grinned and walked back over to his seat. Newt and Minho both wore the same look of astonishment on their faces.

"I thought we were friends, Tommy," the blond said, false sadness dripping from his voice. "It's bad enough this shank's on my bloody lap, but now I have to hold on him for the rest of the buggin' night?"

"You got it."

"There's no way that's happening," Minho butted in.

"Then you're both out of the game and there's no breakfast for you in the morning," Jorge said.

"Hey! Since when was that a rule?" Newt argued. Minho groaned.

"Since I made it one. You're on my Berg, you play by my rules, _muchachos._ Unless you two lovebirds don't want breakfast, I suggest you hold on to each other for dear life. Go on now, do it," he responded, making a gesture with his hands. Thomas wasn't exactly sure what Jorge wanted them to _do_; they were already touching in a rather awkward position.

Newt rolled his eyes. "Fine. But I better be getting extra jam on my bloody toast for this." Rolling his eyes, he wrapped his arms around Minho's stomach and brought him closer—if that was even possible—to him. He poked his head from around Minho's body. "Happy now, shuckface? Is this the kind of thing you had in mind?" The sarcastic comment was directed at Thomas.

"Not really," he shrugged, "but it works."

"I hope you know you're gonna pay for this, shank," Minho growled. He shifted himself in Newt's lap in an effort to make himself more comfortable. Newt, on the other hand, looked about as comfortable as someone caught in a bear trap, but there was no helping that. Brenda snickered in the chair beside Thomas.

"Now it's my turn," Newt announced. He chose his target without hesitation. "I choose the shank that started this whole thing."

"Dare," Brenda said, leaning forwards. "Take your best shot at me."

Minho tilted his head backwards so that he could talk into Newt's ear. After a minute of the two whispering back and forth, they both smiled triumphantly. "Alright then. Since you're so bloody eager, come here."

"So you're not going to tell the rest of us?" Thomas asked. He hated to admit it, but he had been eager to hear it. He hoped it had been about him.

"Oh you'll see, shuckface. You'll see," Minho replied. Brenda rolled her eyes and crossed the room to where the two were sitting and leaned in to hear the dare. Her eyes went wide as Newt whispered it then pushed her away.

"Fine, I'll do it," she said quickly, heading back to her seat and sitting down. She crossed her arms; she looked like a pouting child.

"What was the dare?" Jorge questioned.

Brenda opened her mouth to speak, but Newt quickly cut her off. "That's for us to know, and for you shanks to find out."

Thomas rolled his eyes. "Brenda, your turn."

"Jorge," she said immediately.

"I pick truth, _muchacha._"

"Is it true you secretly enjoy watching Minho and Newt get it on like this?"

Thomas suppressed a laugh as he watched Jorge's face contort into pure and utter confusion. Minho and Newt both groaned at the same time, the blond's arms still around the other. "We've let this go way too far," Newt sighed. Minho rubbed his temples and took deep breaths.

"Where did you get that idea?" the Spaniard asked.

"I don't know, just answer the question."

"If you're looking for some huge confession that I'm secretly into guys sitting in each other's laps, then you're not going to find it here, _muchacha. _The answer is no," Jorge stated firmly. He looked away from the group and Brenda chuckled.

"Good enough for me. Your turn," she said.

"I'll go with Thomas. Truth or dare?"

Thomas hesitated. "Dare," he finally said, a newfound confidence swelling up inside him. He could take whatever Jorge could dish out; he knew it.

"I dare you to let our friend Minho here give you a haircut."

Minho stood up abruptly—bringing Newt with him—and clapped. "Now that's something I'm for!" he announced.

"Sit down, this is uncomfortable!" Newt said.

"You want me to sit down? Okay." Minho gave Newt a shove with his back and fell back with full force, not sparing the blond in the least bit. Thomas winced as the black haired boy landed hard on the other, crushing his friend against the sofa.

"Someone help me…" Newt mumbled against Minho's back. Then the reality of Jorge's dare kicked in.

"Wait a second!" Thomas said, standing up as Minho had done—thought not in pure joy at being able to attack someone with scissors. "I like my hair perfectly fine as it is, thank you very much. What if I don't let him cut it?" He looked at Jorge for an answer.

Jorge simply shrugged. "Then it looks like someone will be going without breakfast, lunch, _and _dinner."

"Please no," he pleaded. But Jorge wouldn't budge. Not even the glare Brenda was sending her companion wavered his resolve.

"Slim it, Tommy," Newt said, now able to stick his head out from behind the black haired boy. "Minho here's been practically giving me a lapdance over here for the past thirty minutes and you can't even man up enough to get a bloody haircut?"

"Says the one with hair down to his shoulders…" Thomas muttered.

"What was that, shank?"

"Nothing."

The two had a staring competition until Minho decided to cut in. "Newt, honey, what have I told you about being nice to Thomas?"

Newt rolled his eyes. "Could someone just fart already?"

"I'm honestly surprised someone hasn't," Brenda commented.

As if triggered by words, Minho let out one of the loudest farts Thomas had ever heard. And Newt—poor Newt—was right in the line of fire. Said boy immediately released Minho and pushed him off of his lap, who landed on the ground with a _thump. _

"Oh bloody hell! It smells like a buggin' sewer plant now!" the blond shouted, hands flying up to his face to cover his nose. Despite the fact that Thomas thought he could smell traces of it over where he was sitting, he began to laugh.

Brenda waved her hand in front of her face. Jorge whistled and plugged his nose. "Dude, I never knew you had so much firepower," Thomas said over his laughter. Minho grinned from his spot on the floor.

"Looks like I'm sleeping on the couch tonight," Minho said, earning him a kick in the side from Newt. "Do you want another one?" he asked, looking up.

"Oh God, please no," Newt begged. He started over for the recliner previously occupied by Minho at the start of the game, but was stopped when the black haired boy reached up and grabbed his arm. "Now what do you want? You've already caused enough damage."

"We're supposed to be glued together, remember?" Minho replied, a look of pure innocence on his face. Thomas would have felt bad for Newt if it weren't so freaking funny. He wasn't sure how the guy could keep a straight-face through the whole thing.

"Bloody—you know what? Fine." He pulled Minho up with surprising strength and then tossed him at the recliner. Off balance, the black haired boy stumbled and fell right into the chair. Before he could get up, Newt ran over to the recliner and pushed him down before he hopped onto the chair—and Minho—sideways, his feet hanging over one side and his head hanging over the other. Now it was Minho's turn to be sat on.

"How's this, shuckface? You buggin' like this, huh?" Newt taunted, moving back and forth and rocking the chair, along with Minho. Thomas couldn't help but feel heat rise to his face at the scene; it was a little much, even for Minho and Newt. It didn't even seem like they were doing it for the dare anymore. No, they were in a competition.

"Yeah, I like that you shank. Keep doing it and _you'll _be the one on the couch tonight," Minho growled. It only made Newt continue to do it, and faster. Thomas heard Brenda sigh next to him.

"Are they always like this?" she said over the sound of the two in the recliner bickering.

"Well, I've only known them for a little while, but, yeah," Thomas answered.

"I think I'm going to call it a night, _muchachos_," Jorge said."I need some sleep to pilot tomorrow. About them…" he trailed off, looking at Newt and Minho still in the chair. Minho was now aggressively caressing Newt's cheek and tugging at his hair, while Newt was flopping around like a fish screaming at Minho to tell him that he liked it. "Make sure they get sorted out," he finished and hastily left the room.

"I think that's it for me, too," Brenda announced. "Goodnight, Thomas," she said.

"TELL ME YOU LIKE IT!"

"Night, Brenda." She hurriedly followed Jorge's path, leaving Thomas alone with the two shanks that wouldn't shut up about who liked what Thomas knew he had never witnessed anything like it before; and he planned on never witnessing it again.

Thomas watched them for another minute before he decided to tell them that it was over. "Hey, guys," he said, clearing his throat. In the brief moment that Newt stopped flopping Minho slapped him and looked around as if someone else could have done it. Newt's brow furrowed and he narrowed his eyes.

"Yes, Tommy?" he answered.

"I'm heading to the bedroom, so if you want to take… _that _in there, you're welcome to it," Thomas replied. Just as Newt opened his mouth to reply, Minho's hand flew over it.

"That's a wonderful idea!" the Runner announced.

"I obje—"

Putting his arms under the blond, Minho lifted Newt bridal style and began to speed walk to where the three unfortunately shared a bedroom. Thomas followed, not wanting to miss if Minho got kicked or punched in the face by Newt's flailing limbs.

"Would you just—" _Whack. _The Runner got a fist to the face and abruptly stopped. Thomas covered his mouth to stifle a laugh as he imagined his friend's face. "Okay. That's it."

Minho dropped Newt without any warning. He landed flat on his back and banged his head against the floor. Newt moaned and clutched his head. "What'd you bloody do that for?"

Minho didn't answer. Instead, he grabbed the boy on the ground by one of his legs, then looked back to Thomas. "Help me carry him," he said. "This shank doesn't deserve to be held by my strong arms."

Thomas chuckled quietly as he grabbed Newt's other leg, then followed Minho with the moaning blond in tow.

"I can bloody walk, shuckfaces," Newt said as he was dragged through the hallways of the Berg.

Minho looked back at him. Thomas couldn't help but imagine the smirk on his friend's face as he said, "But I'm not supposed to let go of you, my dear Newt, and you can thank Thomas for that."

Said brunet grunted in response; Newt was getting heavier by the minute. The boy on the floor stayed silent the rest of the trip and didn't try anything. The second the trio reached their bedroom he dropped the blond's leg and rushed to one of the two beds, suddenly tired. Minho tugged Newt fully into the room and shut the door behind them. Thomas hit the light switch next to the bed, illuminating the room.

"Come on, shank; get up now," Minho said, nudging Newt with his foot.

"Maybe I don't want to."

"Get up!"

Thomas listened as the two began their bickering again, taking off his shirt in the process. He was thoroughly entertained as he lied in bed, watching Minho and Newt struggle. Newt eventually got up and began to make his way over to the other bed, but Thomas had other plans in mind.

"Aren't you two supposed to be glued together?" he said with a smirk. "I'm sure Jorge won't be happy to know that you didn't complete your dare."

Minho and Newt exchanged a look with each other.

"Oh, you're right, Thomas. We are," Minho said slowly, making his way over to where Newt now was climbing into bed. "Scoot over, Newt."

The blond smiled. "My pleasure, Minho." Thomas watched in awe as the two boys climbed into bed with each other. Newt turned on his side to face Thomas, a wide grin settling on his features. Minho lied down right next to him and pressed his back against Newt. The blond wrapped an arm around the other's waist. "Like this, Thomas?"

The brunet should have seen it coming; after all, he was dealing with Minho and Newt. "Yep," he said, "exactly like that. Stay like that for the whole night."

"Oh don't worry, we will," Minho replied. Thomas sat up to kill the lights and saw that Newt had snuggled himself into Minho; he had even buried his face in Runner's hair. _They're really going all out with this, _he thought as he flipped the switch and the room sank once again into inky darkness.

It took him a while to fall asleep. He listened to the steady breathing of the two in the bed beside him, wondering if they would ever touch each other again after tonight. Eventually, Thomas fell into a deep, undisturbed sleep.

Thomas awoke to hair tickling his face. He tried to brush it out of the way, confused as to why there was so much of it. When did he grow this much hair? Opening his eyes, he had the shock of his life.

There was Brenda. In the bed. With him. She had only a tank top and extremely short shorts on. Looking under the covers, Thomas saw that he only had his boxers on.

That was when he passed out.


	2. Chapter 2

I Bloody Dare You: Chapter 2

"Thomas, Thomas!"

Thomas's eyelids fluttered open to see Brenda—still in only a tank top and short shorts—looking down at him, concern in her dark brown eyes. His stomach instantly lurched when he remembered his current attires; his boxers.

"Thank goodness," she started. "I was worried you'd be out all day."

"Looks like Tommy boy can't handle a little action," Thomas heard Newt say from the other bed. Cocking his head, he saw that the two shanks were still in a cuddling position; even while sitting up. Newt had wrapped both his arms around Minho's torso, while the other leaned his head back onto the blond's shoulder. Newt noticed him staring. "Surprised we actually did it?"

"More or less," Thomas replied, turning back to Brenda. He had a perfect view of… _something_ that made him blush. The brunette noticed and pulled back, then sat criss-cross apple sauce on the single sized bed.

"Can we stop now?" Minho complained. "This slinthead squeezed the life out of me last night."

Minho let out a strangled as soon as the words left his mouth; Thomas figured Newt now had him in a bone-crushing hug.

"You know you liked it, shank," Newt said.

Brenda groaned. "Don't start this again." Thomas nodded in agreement and then cleared his throat.

"So was this your dare?" he asked, ignoring the sounds of struggle in the next bed over.

"Yeah. They dared me to climb into your bed at night, undress you, and sleep with you until morning. Being the tough girl I am, I decided why the hell not? So here I am."

Thomas put his head in his hands at the thought of being asleep while Brenda took his pants off. It was embarrassing beyond belief.

Minho and Newt's fighting finally subsided and they calmed down. The room was silent for a moment before Minho said, "Let's get some shuckin' food; I'm starving."

"Good that," Thomas agreed, eager to get out of the awkward position he was in and dressed.

"Do we still have to be glued together?" Newt questioned, looking at Brenda.

"No, I think we've all seen enough of that."

The rest of the day passed uneventfully. Thomas spent most of it roaming around the Berg; occasionally rummaging through opened packages or crates he found in some of the supply closets. Most of it was junk; but he did find a nifty hat that he liked.

He spent the time that he wasn't looking around eating or lying on the couch in the sitting room when it wasn't occupied by Newt or Minho. Brenda stayed in the cockpit with Jorge most of the time. He had tried to spend a little time in there with her, but felt like a third wheel to their conversation. Something about their time spent in Alaska together.

Sighing, Thomas had no idea what to do. It was a repeat of last night; except everyone was busy. So he lied around until dinner, feeling lazier than ever when he got up to go to the small kitchen and eating area within the Berg.

Brenda had already begun to cook. Minho was sitting at the table holding his knife and fork and staring expectantly at her as she fiddled with the microwave's settings. Thomas figured it must have been rice tonight for Minho to get that excited about whatever she was cooking.

Newt strolled in after him, followed by Jorge. "Well, it looks like we're all here, _muchachos_," the Spaniard announced. Newt took a seat next to Minho and sighed, putting his head in his hands.

"Isn't there anything to do on this bloody thing?" he complained.

"We could play—"

"I am not playing anymore of your buggin' games, woman," Newt interrupted, glaring at Brenda. The cook rolled her eyes and turned back to the food she was preparing, which Thomas now saw was leftovers from the night before. Great; more overcooked macaroni to choke

down.

Then Jorge spoke up. "How about we play the blushing game?"

"Oh, that game," Brenda responded.

"That doesn't sound too good," Thomas murmured.

"Yeah, what the shuckface said," Minho agreed.

Newt nodded his head in agreement. "I'm bloody done with that kind of stuff," he said.

"At least give it a try," Jorge pleaded. The three boys shook their head as Brenda passed out the macaroni.

"I think we should play it. It's fun," she commented.

"Your idea of fun is making me sleep with _and_ spoon a guy," Minho fired.

The brunette chuckled. "That _was _pretty entertaining. At least you can say you've slept with someone now." Minho was about to say something back when Newt interrupted him.

"Let's not forget about you; after all, you bloody stripped Tommy down to his undies and crawled into bed with him last night," he reminded her. Thomas and Brenda both blushed at the recent event, while Jorge's face went from calm to rage.

"You did _what?_" he practically shouted.

Brenda threw her hands up in defense. "It was a dare!"

"Dare or not, that's inappropriate!"

"Says the one that practices making out on a pillow!"

"How did you know about that?!"

The two settled into a heated argument, debating back and forth about how Jorge may or may not cuddle with said pillow at night. Thomas was just glad the conversation was turned from him. The last thing he wanted to do was get his sorry butt thrown out of the Berg just because he had accidentally slept with Brenda.

Newt looked very satisfied with himself at having started the fight. He crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. Unfortunately, he leaned a little too far back and the chair slipped out from under him; sending a smirking blond to the ground.

"Ouch!" he hissed as he banged his head on the floor for the second night in the row. Minho immediately erupted into a fit of laughter until Newt grabbed one of his chair's legs and yanked on it, sending the Runner out of his seat as well. The two sprawled on the floor and began to wrestle back and forth, trying to pin each other to the ground.

Thomas looked down at his untouched macaroni and uttered the stupidest words he ever remembered himself saying. "Why can't I be a noodle?" He rapidly looked at his friends to see if anyone had heard, but everyone else was still busy with their own matters. He sat in the middle of the warzone, staring off into blank space until he'd had enough. "Everybody SHUT UP!" Thomas yelled.

Brenda and Jorge instantly looked away from each other and at him; their argument about how Jorge would be forever alone instantly forgotten. Newt and Minho looked up from where the black haired boy had managed to pin the other to the floor. Thomas took a deep breath.

"Let's just play the stupid game," he said. It wasn't just a suggestion; it was a demand for everybody to shut the hell up and get themselves together. They were on a mission to escape WICKED, for God's sake. Couldn't they remember that?

"Fine, Tommy, I'll play the bloody game. But only if this shank—" he pointed to Minho, still on top of him "—does too," Newt finished.

Minho narrowed his eyes, and then smirked. "Okay, then. I hope you're ready for your shuckin' limbs to go numb, because all the blood in your body's gonna be in your cheeks."

"Oooh, shots have been fired," Brenda whistled. Thomas sighed, hoping he had put a stop to the fighting for now. All of it gave him a headache as he picked silently at his food with his fork.

"Alright, then it's settled, _muchachos. _I'll explain how to play it after dinner," Jorge said, taking a seat.

The rest of dinner, like most of the day, was unexciting. However, there was an unspoken anticipation in the air for the upcoming game. Thomas couldn't help but admit he _was _curious to what he would have to do, and hoped it didn't involve too much nudity. Shuddering at the thought of having to get naked in front of everyone, he let his imagination rest.

Finally, the time came. The five sat down in their respected spots—the same spots as the night before—and Jorge began the explanation on how to play.

"So you get a partner and say 'I like you' to each other until someone blushes. If no one does, then you keep going. Anything goes to make someone blush; just… don't get too handsy," he said, looking at Brenda.

"What are you looking at me for?" the brunette complained. "It's those two you should be worried about." She pointed to Newt and Minho.

Newt snorted. "Need I not remind you whose fault that is?"

Minho simply whistled and looked around innocently. "Shall we get started?" he said.

"We shall. Jorge, will you get the bottle?" Brenda nodded her head in the direction of the kitchen. Jorge complied and went to fetch the bottle.

"Why do we need a bottle?" Thomas questioned.

"The person that spins the bottle and the person that it lands on have to do it," she explained.

"Why can't we just choose our partner?" Minho asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Because, knowing you, you'd probably choose to do it with yourself."

The Runner grinned and put his arms behind his head. "I bet you I'd make everyone else in the room blush before I made myself." All three of the teenagers rolled their eyes at his lame joke. Jorge came back into the room a moment later, holding an empty bottle of what used to be orange juice.

"Alright, _muchachos. _Who wants to spin first?"

"I'll go," Thomas said, unsure why he was so eager to go. Jorge tossed the brunet the bottle without question. "Where do I spin it?"

"We need to all sit on the floor," Brenda mentioned.

"Good that," Minho replied. The group moved into a circle on the floor. Thomas placed the bottle in the middle of them and gave it a spin as soon as everyone was settled. Watching it with a hawk's eyes, he looked up when he saw who it had landed on.

Minho grinned. "Looks like it's up to us to start out, Thomas." Thomas groaned and scooted closer to his friend—who was grinning like a madman.

Taking a deep breath, the brunet started. "I like you," he said awkwardly. His friend's grin never wavered.

"I like you too, Thomas. I've always liked you. You're very special to me…" Minho dropped his voice to a whisper.

"I like you more than you could ever imagine," Thomas countered. Suddenly, Minho was right up in his face.

"I think I love you," the Runner whispered in his ear.

"Okay, you win!" Thomas announced, pushing his friend back. Minho laughed, the others joining in soon after.

"Oh man, Tommy, your face right now is priceless!" Newt hollered.

Thomas huffed and crossed his arms like a pouting child. "Fine then, let's see you do it. Hope it lands on your boyfriend," he spat. Newt's eyes flashed a hint of annoyance but he accepted the challenge no less.

"Then give me the bloody thing." The bottle was passed to the blond, who spun it without hesitation. Thomas held his breath as he watched who it landed on: Brenda. Something died in him the very second it landed on her and they both scooted forwards since they sat on the opposite side of the circle from each other.

The three audience members watched as Newt began. "I like you, Brenda."

"You're so sexy, Newt."

"I think your figure is flawless."

"I love the way your hair looks in the morning."

"Your hips don't lie." He now had a determined look in his eyes.

"Neither do yours." Brenda matched his glare.

Thomas felt a pang of jealousy hit his chest as he watched Newt say things to Brenda that he—hopefully—didn't mean. Finally, though, the blond cracked after a particular comment about his nether regions.

"Okay!" Jorge said, cutting the two off. They both scooted back into their rightful places, Newt's face tinged red. "Next."

"You go," Newt told Jorge. "I hope you land on _her._" He pointed an accusing finger at Brenda, who shrugged.

"You gotta do what you gotta do." The blond blew a piece of hair out of his face.

Jorge took the bottle and spun it. Thomas wasn't in the least bit surprised when it landed on him. Looking the Spaniard directly in the eye, he said, "I do things to Brenda that you wish I would do to you."

Jorge took a deep breath and face palmed. The slightest hint of redness entered his cheeks, and Thomas had won.

"I didn't know you were such a pedophile, Jorge," Minho commented. Jorge abruptly threw the bottle at Minho, who caught it easily. "I'll go, if that's what you want." The black haired boy grinned and the man groaned.

Minho put the bottle on the ground and twisted it as hard as he could. Around and around it went, until it finally stopped on the person it was looking for. Thomas knew this was going to be a long night.

Newt grinned and cracked his knuckles as if he had been expecting it. "Come at me, you bloody shank."

"My pleasure." Minho scooted so close to Newt he was practically in the other boy's lap. He grabbed Newt's hand and looked him straight in the eye, bringing their faces close together. "I'm in love with you, Newton."

Newt sneered at the use of his full name. "I'm so head over heels for you, Minho. I want you to be my lover."

"Want me to be? I already am." Minho placed his head under Newt's chin, then looked up at the older boy. Newt pulled him in for a hug.

"Your body is so warm. What's it like on the inside?"

"Do you want to find out?"

"Oh my gosh," Brenda whispered to no one. Thomas was too focused on the two to respond.

"I want you so badly."

"I want you even more."

"Maybe I should just take you here."

"Maybe you should."

Thomas could see the fiery determination in both of the boy's eyes. After a couple more phrases were exchanged, Minho did the unspeakable. He grabbed Newt's head and forced the blond's lips to meet his own.

"Why did I suggest this…" Thomas heard Jorge utter beside Brenda.

Newt's eyes opened wide with shock at first and then closed abruptly. The two fought for dominance in the kiss; it was so intense and passionate Thomas had to stop and wonder if they had ever done it before.

"Neither of them is blushing yet," Brenda said her thoughts out loud. "How is that even possible?"

"I have no clue," Thomas answered. He honestly didn't; he was blushing just looking at the show.

Newt had pinned Minho down to the ground now and was kissing—making out with— him harder than ever. He lifted Minho's shirt, exposing his naval, and played with his belt loops on his pants. Minho moaned into the kiss. Thomas covered his eyes.

Finally, they came up for air. Thomas removed his hands from his face as he watched them both gasp; Minho's shirt was now almost completely off.

"Am I going to have to undress you completely to make you blush?" Newt whispered seductively, just loud enough for the others to hear.

Minho pulled the other down on top of him, rolled over, and smirked. He now had the blond pinned, who wriggled underneath him. Minho took off his shirt and flung it in a random direction. Regrettably, Thomas had to be sitting in the exact spot it landed. Flinging the fabric off of him, he wondered if they should put a stop to the game before it went too far.

Minho forced his hands up Newt's shirt and began to tickle him mercilessly. The blond squirmed and began to make noises that sounded like a dying hyena.

"Stop it! Unfair!" Newt gasped between giggles.

Mino turned to Jorge, still tickling the boy beneath him. "This is fair, right?"

"Considering you two just made out, I'd say yes."

Minho turned back to Newt. "See? It's fair."

"Slim it, shuckface!" he replied.

Newt eventually managed to roll Minho back over so that he was on top again. Not wasting a minute, he lifted the boy's shirt again (there seemed to be a lot of shirt lifting, Thomas noticed) and put his head to it. Then he dragged his tongue along Minho's abs.

Minho stopped struggling and completely stilled as Newt's tongue began to trail lower. _Finally_, Thomas thought, _it's over_. Minho was blushing furiously now.

"Stop it, slinthead!" he practically pleaded. Newt lifted his head immediately and smirked at Minho's red face.

"Looks like I win." Getting off his friend, he casually sat back in his spot like he hadn't just made out with a guy and licked his stomach. Minho sat up and pulled down his shirt. A silence enveloped the group; Thomas, Brenda, and Jorge looking awkwardly between Newt and Minho. Then, Brenda started clapping.

It started out slowly, then it amounted into a full clap and she stood up. "Out of everything I've seen, you guys have topped it. Congratulations," she said. "Now, if you would excuse me, I think I'm going to wash my eyes out with bleach." With that, the brunette rushed out of the room and towards her bedroom.

Newt and Minho looked at each other and burst into laughter. "Did you see the look on her face?" Minho whooped.

"Bloody priceless! Just like Tommy's face earlier!" The two erupted into more laughter, slapping each other on the back.

"Well, I better get back to piloting," Jorge spoke. "Have fun, you three." Just like the night before, the Spaniard rushed out of the room to avoid having to deal with the two howling Gladers.

Thomas watched as the two's laughter died down and Newt leaned back against the front of the sofa before standing. "I'm going to get some water, I can still bloody taste you in my mouth," Newt announced, shooting Minho a glare before leaving the room.

Once he was gone, Minho spoke up. "Don't you ever tell anyone that my first kiss was a dude or I'll have your shuck neck so fast you won't even know what happened."

"Good that," Thomas replied. It's not like he had anyone he could tell, anyways. Well, maybe Teresa, but there'd be no point.

Newt came back a moment later, downing a glass of ice water. "That's better," he said, taking a seat on the couch. Thomas climbed back into his own seat and watched as Minho did the same. He couldn't see how they managed to make out and then make nothing out of it the next minute.

"Why'd you guys kiss so suddenly? I'm sure one of you would have blushed eventually," Thomas stated blandly.

They exchanged a look. "So that they'd never ask us to play another shuckin' game for as long as we lived," Minho answered simply. Newt nodded in agreement.

"Well, I'm sure you achieved your purpose then."

"So Jorge went to pilot, Brenda went to die in a hole, now what?" Newt questioned, finishing off his water. Thomas shrugged.

"We sit here and contemplate what we're doing with our lives, that's what," Minho replied.

Thomas stood. "I don't know about you slintheads, but I'm going to shower. I think both of you need one, too."

Newt and Minho shared another look; it was starting to creep Thomas out. "Okay, Tommy," Newt responded. "Have fun."

"Thanks," he said suspiciously, "I will."

Stepping into the hot water felt like bliss, soothing every part of Thomas. He stood in the rushing water for a moment before picking up the bottle of shampoo and getting a generous amount, lathering his hair with it.

The minute he began to rub it around, the brunet knew something was off. His hair wouldn't budge with the shampoo in it, and it felt like his hands were stuck to his head. In fact, they _were _stuck to his head. Thomas couldn't pry them loose without attempting to rip out his own hair.

"What the…" he murmured. He took a closer look at the shampoo bottle, turning it around with his elbows. On the back, there was a piece of paper taped to the bottle with small, crappy handwriting on it.

_We hope you enjoy this new shampoo._

_To Tommy, with love._

_From, The Glue._

Thomas instantly knew what was in his hair. "NEWT! MINHO! YOU SHANKS ARE DEAD!"


End file.
